


Friday

by WandererRiha



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Gift Fic, Ignis gets a secretary, OC, Original Character - Freeform, a/b/o but not gross, in which I test the patience of my readers, no really i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:27:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27359515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WandererRiha/pseuds/WandererRiha
Summary: Ignis needs about five secretaries. He gets one to start. Just because he doesn't need any help doesn't mean he couldn't use some help.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 5





	1. The Secretary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crabapplered](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crabapplered/gifts).



> Or: In Which I Test The Reader's Patience by Introducing an OC.  
> Ya'll loved Bob and Pod219, now see if you can put up with Tory.
> 
> Gift fic for the fabulous CrabappleRed inspired by her fic [Guardian at The Gate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18283253) which I really love and you should totally read. Go. Go now. I'll wait.

“Who is _this?_ ” Ignis demanded in a tone usually reserved for muddy footprints tracked onto an expensive carpet.

The person in question was small and slight, perhaps shoulder-high on Ignis and so thin that their suit hung off them like rags off a scarecrow. Hair so fair it was nearly white fell into eyes that appeared weirdly magnified due to a pair of thick plastic glasses. Those eyes were a watery gray and did nothing to add the illusion of life to their ashen complexion, or interest to their vacant expression. Ignis dimly wondered just how deep the council had had to dredge the clerical pool before they found this individual.

“This is Tory,” Director Eudomia said by way of an introduction. “It has been brought to my attention that you’re involved in twice as many projects as most council members and have been managing everything yourself. Each of them has at least three secretaries. I thought you deserved an extra pair of hands to make things easier on you.”

“I do not require such a _frivolity_ ,” Ignis emphasised the word. “Surely there are others who could benefit more from their...services.”

Tory didn’t even blink. Ignis wasn’t sure if he ought to be insulted at the clerk’s obliviousness, or impressed at their poker face.

“Nevertheless, Tory has been assigned to you. Make use of your secretary or not. Fire them if you like. It’s up to you.” Her tone suggested this would not be an intelligent decision. “Good day, Courtesan.”

She swept out the door, taking her scent with her. It took a moment for it to dissipate. All the while, Tory stood there, folio under one arm, messenger bag slung over the other shoulder, evidently awaiting orders. Ignis did not deign to acknowledge him. Her? The clothing and short haircut offered no clues. Tory’s features were fine and delicate, their build scrawny, the baggy suit hiding any other indicators. Ignis wondered if it was deliberate?

There was no way Tory was an Alpha, or even a Beta. They seemed too small. Most likely they’re an Omega, but perhaps they too were using scent blockers? Ignis couldn’t detect anything from them outside of the vague sharpness of hand sanitizer. At least they wouldn’t stink up Ignis’ sanctum with musk and pheromones.

“I have no need of a secretary,” Ignis said, allowing a bit of archness to linger in his tone. “What makes you think you could possibly be of use?”

“Just ‘cause you don’t need something, doesn’t mean you can’t use it.”

Somewhere between alto and tenor; Tory’s voice offered no hints either.

“Double in Computer Science and Accounting, Masters from LCU. Almost ten years in the Citadel bureaucracy, starting in Accounting and most recently in the Quartermaster’s office.”

Ignis couldn’t help but lift his brows at this. He had not expected such a heavy resume from such a slip of a person. He kept his expression schooled so that it could be misconstrued for haughtiness. It wouldn’t do to reveal that he was actually rather impressed. But what on Eos was he going to do with an accountant?

“I have no use for a bean counter,” Ignis said, not unkindly. “Wrong tool for the job.”

“I should also mention I helped write the program that tracks the orders and inventory for the Quartermaster- and some of the other offices.”

Now he _was_ impressed. “Then why are you here?”

Had they done something and been caught? Was this punishment? Were they a mole sent there by the Council to spy on him?

“Because I asked.”

Ignis blinked.

“HR was going to drop a secretary in your lap whether you liked it or not. I did everything but tie up the other candidates and shove them in a closet.”

“You wanted to be the secretary of the royal Courtesan?” Ignis had trouble believing this.

“No, Sir. I want to be the secretary of Lord Ignis Scientia.”

Well. Let it be said the man (woman?) had a gift for diplomacy. It occurred to Ignis that he could foist some of his less pleasant, and more mundane tasks on Tory; filing, emails, phone calls, things that didn’t necessarily require him to act a part.

“Who were the other candidates?”

“Tacitus, Chloe, and Phoebe. All Omegas.”

The names were too far down the pecking order for Ignis to immediately recognize them. He had no business with the lesser cogs of the political machine that was the Citadel.

“And you were chosen due to your experience?”

Tory shrugged. “Among other things.”

Ignis’ brows lowered in something akin to a scowl. “What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t smell.”

“You have no sense of smell?”

“No,” Tory clarified, “I have no scent.”

Ignis felt his brows lower and his chin pull in. He couldn’t help it.

“Usually I let people assume what they want, but I figured in this case it might be a bonus.”

“How could you possibly--?”

“I did some exploratory work regarding the refurbishing of this place into an office. I put in the requisitions for paint and cleaning supplies and furniture. I’m told I’m nosy, but prefer to think of myself as ‘thorough’.” The delivery was so perfectly deadpan that Ignis could not immediately think of a reply. Tory looked as if they had recently graduated university, but if they’d been here for ten years already? The possibility that they might be older than Ignis himself came as a slightly surreal revelation.

“Did you indeed?”

“Yes, Sir. I thought my defect might be an advantage in this one instance.”

“Defect?”

“I was born like this.”

Well. Ignis wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that. He stared at his blotter for a moment, waiting for his thoughts to organize themselves.

“How shall I address you?” Ignis asked.

Tory shrugged. “They, them. ‘He, him’ if it’s in front of the big wigs. It’s just easier.”

Ignis noded. “Very well. You will not share this office, and you may only enter upon request. The office next to this is empty. Use that if you like. I’ll send you my schedule. I expect you at my elbow whenever I deem it necessary and at no other time. Understood?”

“Yessir.”

First Opilio and now Tory. He was collecting quite the little menagerie of misfit Omegas.


	2. Probation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio does not trust Ignis’ new secretary.

Gladio did not trust Ignis’ new secretary. Indeed, he only knew the guy existed because Ignis had been whining about him.

“As if I’m not perfectly capable of managing his highness’ affairs,” he grumbled, scrubbing at pots and pans from dinner somewhat harder than necessary.

“Who says you’re not?” Aside from the Council, but they were all assholes and hardly counted.

“Director Eudomia has assigned me a secretary.”

Gladio felt his brows sink into a scowl. “You mean a spy.”

Ignis paused in savaging a skillet and considered his words. “I’m honestly not sure. They...seemed to actually want to work for me, odd as that might seem.”

Gladio snorted. “Yeah, I’d hate to have you for a boss. That’s a high bar to meet.”

Ignis cast him a dry look and went back to scrubbing. “They seem capable enough on paper. Still, I don’t need anyone meddling in my business. I’ve half a mind to fire them outright.”

“It’s that bad?”

“It’s...peculiar.” It was an odd word to settle on. Setting the now clean pan aside, Ignis dried his hands and turned to face Gladio, leaning against the counter. “They told me they’d virtually rigged the selection process so that Director Eudomia would choose them. They _wanted_ to work for me. Specifically, they wanted to work for Lord Scientia. Not the royal courtesan.”

Well. If anything was going to get past Ignis’ pride, it’d be that. Honestly, it felt a little heavy-handed if the guy was trying to circumvent Ignis’ defenses to scam him somehow.

“They got a name? I can run a background check. Won’t take me long.”

Ignis opened his mouth, closed it, and studied the linoleum for a moment before looking up again. “I never got their last name. I suppose you could look under my information. They ought to be listed as one of my staff if the transfer’s gone through correctly.”

“Okay,” Gladio nodded. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

\--

He found nothing. Not nothing interesting, _nothing_. Oh sure there was the usual shit; quarterly reviews, work history, college diplomas, a last name (Exspiravit), but nothing about the man himself. Or rather, Gladio _assumed_ Tory was a man. He dressed like a man. A man with no fashion sense, but a man. Damned if he could find anything with an “M” circled though. Mostly they’d left that particular line empty or marked “other”. Ignis had kept to neutral pronouns when discussing them, so maybe this Tory guy (grammatically neutral usage) preferred not to choose sides. Which hey, cool, whatever. One would think that might make them easier to track, but it actually made it harder.

Gladio lost the trail entirely when he tried to progress beyond records from the Citadel itself. Some of it was protected, personal information, but a lot of it was not. Tory disappeared entirely somewhere around high school. Granted the files of minors weren’t on public record, but Gladio would have at least expected a list of attended primary schools, or a change of address if they hadn’t grown up in Insomnia. Tory didn’t seem to have any family- which was weird but not unheard of, given their age and Niflheim being their usual charming selves over the years. And speaking of years, he would not have thought the guy had ten years on Ignis. They certainly didn’t look like it.

It had taken ages to find a half-decent photograph, longer still for Gladio to figure out what he was looking at. At first he’d thought it was bad photography, or photo manipulation, or something. Yet when he’d asked Ignis about it, Ignis had seemed amused.

“No, Tory’s albino. It’s not makeup, as far as I can tell. It’s extremely difficult to fake something like that.”

“No kiddin’,” Gladio observed, squinting at the badly exposed employee ID. “Huh. Well, my search came up dry. Unless they were robbing convenience stores in grade school, I got nothin’. Dude’s dull as ditchwater. As far as I can tell, their work is their life. No family, few friends, even their online profile’s pretty average. Got a ‘King’s Knight’ account, though. Could always hit ‘em up for a raid?”

Ignis seemed perplexed by this. “It’s a popular game. Why should I want to invite them to join our party?”

“You can’t really know someone until you fight them,” Gladio pointed out. “Since they’ve got zero real-life combat training, combat in cyberspace is the next best thing.”

Ignis thought about that and nodded. “I suppose it’s worth a try.”

\--

“Holy shit, Specs!” Nocits exclaimed upon booting up the game. “Is this for real?”

“It’s a video game, so no,” Ignis replied calmly, more concerned about the pots bubbling on the stove than Noctis and Prompto’s ‘King’s Knight’ mini-game tournament.

“No, I mean your raid history. The roster says you did a dungeon with _WhiterShade!_ ”

“Yes, I did. I had some time during lunch.”

Both Prompto and Noctis stared at him, jaws dangling.

Ignis stared back, perplexed. “What?”

“ _Dude,_ ” Prompto breathed. “WhiterShade is like a King’s Knight cryptid! No one’s even sure he’s real!”

“Yeah, most people think they’re some NPC or insanely high-level boss from an earlier version of the game that is stupid hard to get to unless you know some pretty epic glitches and cheats.”

Ignis nodded calmly. “Yes, they showed me a few.”

“H-how did you meet them? How did you _find_ them?” Prompto wanted to know, utterly in awe. “Can you introduce _us?_ ”

Ignis briefly considered telling them that his secretary was a closet King’s Knight junkie, but decided it might be more entertaining to let Tory keep their secret. As Gladio has said, their joint raid had been most enlightening. For one, WhiterShade had proved to not be a player-killer, which was always a plus. It was amusing to discover they’d both chosen the same character class (Cleric/Summoner with an emphasis on white magic). Tory’s character, however, had obtained a variety of rare gear and a level of expertise Ignis had not thought possible.

“I’ve been playing since it first came out,” Tory had explained, fingers dancing over the screen in a rapid pattern done so often it had become muscle memory.

“King’s Knight isn’t _that_ old,” Ignis pointed out. “The app’s been out for what? Two? Three years?”

“Five, and I’m not talking about the mobile app. I’m talking about the original console that came out when I was ten.”

Ignis felt his eyebrows lift. That was over twenty years of gaming experience. Despite it being prowess in a simple video game, something that was arguably a waste of time, Ignis couldn’t help but be impressed. Tory went on:

“I will also admit to trolling the fan forums for cheats and glitches, but there’s not much posted that I haven’t already come across myself.”

“Still, the data wouldn’t transfer to the mobile app,” Ignis countered. “It must have taken you an obscene amount of grinding.”

“Oh it did. However, there’s a couple of places where you can virtually break the game and cheese yourself a ton of XP.”

“Really?” Now Ignis was intrigued. “Show me.”

And Tory very graciously had shown him how to execute a series of gymnastics with his character in order to engage a specific glitch, and then which monsters to attack to achieve five times the XP he might have earned ordinarily.

“Damn, you jumped like three levels in an afternoon!” Noctis exclaimed, bringing Ignis back to the present. “How’d you do that?”

Ignis just smiled. “Trade secret.”

\--

Since the paper trail had been a bust, Gladio decided that a frontal assault might be more productive. Of course he wasn’t going to punch out Ignis’ secretary- unless they deserved it- but talking to them directly might work better. Or not. Wouldn’t know until he tried.

Although his father had given him the side-eye about his vehicle of choice, Gladio was not sorry he’d bought the big, beautiful motorcycle. Of course it wasn’t as safe as a car, but that was the _point_. He’d wanted something fast and fierce that wouldn’t restrict his movements. Pretty hard to wield a sword in one hand and drive with the other in a four-door sedan. He couldn’t enchant his wheels the way Ignis could, but this diesel-powered steed made street jousting possible if need be. 

Normally, he was one of the first to arrive at the parking garage. There weren’t many full spaces in the small lot reserved for two-wheeled vehicles, but someone else was already there. Gladio pulled up and cut the engine, watching the other person as they dismounted. He’d never seen this guy before. Short and slight, their suit looked about two sizes too big. Sturdy leather saddlebags were strapped on either side of the rear tire, and they had a messenger bag of similar construction slung over one shoulder.

“You oughtta get some leathers,” Gladio commented. “You’ll get shredded in that getup.” At least they had a helmet, but that wouldn’t protect the rest of them much.

“Against the dress code, I’m afraid,” the smaller man said, and pulled off their helmet.

“The hell?” Gladio asked no one in particular.

“Pardon?” Ignis’ secretary asked. Without the helmet, their disheveled hair floated about their head like dandelion fluff.

“Didn’t know you had a bike.” Gladio nodded at the little motorcycle. It was tiny compared to Gladio’s enormous beast of a machine; all glistening chrome and sleek black metal, and nearly as broad and sturdy as he was himself. Tory’s bike, however, was just as streamlined and delicate as its owner, though decidedly more colorful; the body done in white accented in a sporty blue.

Tory smiled blandly and set the helmet down on the seat. “Yes, well, one must have a little excitement here and there.”

Gladio huffed, amused. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for the type. Figured you took the train, or maybe a bicycle.”

“I’m afraid I have very little luck with public transportation. I find individual conveyance much more convenient.”

Gladio smirked. “Fair enough. You need help with any of that?”

Tory was pulling binders and files out of the saddle bags. “No thank you, I can manage.”

“I insist,” Gladio said, reaching to stack the files in the crook of one arm. Tory opened their mouth to protest, but must have realized it wouldn’t get them anywhere for they quickly shut it again.

“Thank you,” they said, trotting to keep up with Gladio’s much longer strides. “I didn’t want to impose.”

“Yeah, about that.” Gladio walked along at a brisk pace, knowing he was posturing and not caring in the slightest. Ignis was _his_ friend, _his_ packmate, and no dweeby little bean-counter from the Council was going to cause problems. Not on his watch.

“The Council put you up to this?”

Tory bristled at the name, not unlike Ignis. That sort of indignation was hard to fake. “I assure you, they did _not_. I volunteered.”

“Uh-huh,” Gladio’s tone was dry and unimpressed as he pushed the button for the elevator and herded Tory inside. “And I should believe that because?”

“Because if I do anything to cause your friend and packmate grief, you will personally see to it that my remains are never found.”

Gladio raised an eyebrow at this. Tory stared back evenly. Unable to help himself, Gladio snorted a laugh.

“You’re smarter than you look,” he grunted, hefting the folders. Some of them had begun to slip. “Smart enough to keep your head down and your mouth shut. The only thing I better here Ignis whining about is how he’s run out of things for you to do, understood?”

“Yes, Shield.”

Gladio looked at Tory askance. Weird. People only called his dad by that title.

“Ignis has had to deal with a lot of bullshit of late,” Gladio went on, letting his voice drop to a growl. “Gotta make sure you aren’t adding to it.”

“Believe it or not, Shield Amicitia, I am on your side. More specifically, I am on Lord Scientia’s side. I hope that I may prove the veracity of my intentions to you both. I am here to do my job, nothing more.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Gladio grumbled. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open.

“My job is to aid and assist Lord Scientia in administrative duties. That is all.”

“That so?” Gladio dumped the folders into Tory’s arms, all but knocking him over. “I hope for your sake it’s true.”

“Understood, Shield,” Tory grunted, overburdened by a precipitous tower of paperwork. “If there is nothing else?”

Gladio snorted, half-amused at Tory’s attitude. Guy had guts.

“No. Dismissed.”

Gladio saw himself down the hall back towards the elevator.


	3. Histamine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First time bringing Tory along to a Council meeting  
> (Spoiler: Tory does not, in fact, know their limits.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I borrow shamelessly from a scene in [Crabapplered](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crabapplered/pseuds/crabapplered)'s fic [Guardian at the Gate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18283253/chapters/43688519).

Tory stumbled and gagged upon crossing the threshold of the Council room. It was the first sign of trouble.

“How do you stand this?” Tory hissed blinking hard so that tears trailed down their cheeks. Ignis passed them a discreet handkerchief and replied soto-voiced:

“I don’t. I always have a migraine afterwards.”

“Ah.”

“Will you be alright?”

“I’ll adjust in a minute. I’ll be fine.”

Ignis had his doubts, but Tory was sensible and knew their limits. He hoped.

Tory had become a familiar fixture; a reliable tool like Ignis’ phone or computer. He’d become accustomed to Tory’s colorless face and thick glasses; their sloppy suits and thistledown hair. They had become the support to Ignis that Ignis was to everyone else. Perhaps because of this, Ignis sometimes forgot how fragile Tory was.

Upon being told they were to accompany Ignis to a Council meeting, and having been warned to dress appropriately, Tory had gone all out. Hair combed and slicked back stylishly, dressed in a suit that was actually tailored to their shape, and contacts in place of glasses, Ignis almost didn’t recognize them. 

“If you want, you can call me ‘Victor’,” Tory had said, a smile tugging at one side of their mouth. “See if anyone even recognizes me.”

Tory seemed...taller, somehow. Broader. Definitely more masculine than usual. For one, the suit was darker, though the colors were still modest and neutral. It made them look a little less pallid, more solid and corporeal. Ignis wasn’t the only one to take note. A handful of councillors eyed Tory as they followed Ignis into the room.

“Is that your new secretary?” Councillor Decimius asked. “What a handsome young thing.”

Tory was hardly new. It had been months now since they’d taken up residence in the office next to Ignis’, but this was the first time anyone had seen them in anything besides their usual ill-fitting suit and thick glasses. Ignis ignored Decimius’ comment, as did Tory. They trailed after Ignis, additional folders in their arms. Once Ignis was seated and the folders deposited on the long table in front of him, Tory took their place with the other secretaries and personal assistants along the wall.

“Right. The Council will come to order,” Councillor Oppidius intoned.

It was the usual nonsense; the arguments, the posturing, the endless circle of pointless bickering that got them nowhere. If even one of them would be grown up enough to admit that they might be wrong and that someone else might have a better idea, _maybe_ they could get something done once in a while. Maybe. It didn’t help that there was the intermittent sound of someone trying to cough without being obtrusive. That someone was Tory. Ignis lifted his phone, ostensibly to check his calendar, and hit the camera button instead. Thumbing the icon as if to take a selfie, he angled it just so. It seemed Tory hadn’t adjusted as well as they’d hoped.

Among other things, Tory was albino and had a laundry list of physical quirks and concerns. They had no scent of their own, but their sense of smell was intact and active. The noxious fog of musk and perfume clouding the Council room was unbearable to Ignis. How much worse must it be for Tory, who was allergic to damn near everything? In the miniaturized image on the phone screen, Tory was trying- and failing- to breathe, handkerchief pressed over their mouth and nose, eyes growing red and watery.

The coughing escalated, forcing Tory to bend forward. Ignis closed his phone and hoped that Tory would have sense enough to excuse themselves. For a split second Ignis thought that might be the case. The coughing tapered off, but then came a heavy thud. Ignis whipped around in his seat just in time to see Tory drop to their knees, Councillor Cocceius’ personal assistant lunging to catch them.

“Tory!” Ignis was up and out of his chair before he could think better of it. He knew that horrible high-pitched wheezing sound. He’d heard it only once before, and that was enough. It was the sound of lungs too full of fluid to function, of a throat swelled too tightly shut even for air to pass through. King Regis had made that sound between the mechanical puffs of the oxygen machine as it did the hard work of breathing for him. But Tory wasn’t dying a slow death of magical wasting. Tory’s white face was rapidly escalating from pink to red to blue with lack of air. This was more likely anaphylaxis, or something close to it.

“Call Medical!” Ignis snapped at one of the other secretaries who jumped to do as they were told.

Tory fumbled with one hand inside their jacket, but their movements were uncoordinated and sloppy. Ignis found the inside breast pocket and pulled out what was inside: an epi pen, and an inhaler. Well, first things first. He unscrewed the cap, popped the plunger, and stabbed the needle into the meat of Tory’s thigh. Tory groped for the inhaler and Ignis gave it to them, holding them steady while they used it.

“Is it the smell?” Ignis asked lowly as Tory managed to take a breath only to begin coughing again. They nodded, tears streaming down their face. This close, Ignis could see it wasn’t just lack of oxygen that had turned Tory’s face red. Their skin was actually beginning to blister.

“Can you stand?”

A shaky nod.

“Come on, out into the hall.” He got an arm around Tory and lifted them to their feet. They were lighter than Ignis had expected; bones bird brittle and delicate, far too easy to break. The two of them lurched out into the hall; a couple of drunks too dumb to go home and sleep it off.  
Tory’s eyes were swelling shut, the whole of their face inflamed, as well as the skin of their throat and hands.

“Someone’s… wearing aconite…” Tory croaked, “or eucalyptus...”

Another allergy. Tory must have been sensitive to the evaporating oils of the various perfumes worn by the Councilors. Ignis could only assume said oil had settled on Tory’s skin, thereby causing the reaction. The epi pen and inhaler had done their part, but unless the irritant was removed, Tory wasn’t likely to improve.

“The Med team is on their way,” the secretary informed them, leaning her head out the door.

“Tell them to meet us in the Crownsguard locker room,” Ignis said, and steered Tory toward the elevator. They couldn’t wait. Tory needed help _now_.

The elevator ride seemed twice as long, the plain corridor to have grown an extra mile in length. By the time Ignis got Tory inside, Tory could barely stand and was gasping for each breath. Ignis sat them down on one of the benches and tried to to help them undress. However, Tory resisted when Ignis tried to get their jacket off.

“You can’t stay in this,” Ignis told them. “I have a procedure in place for just such an emergency. Let me help you.”

It was more order than request, but Tory reluctantly relented, letting Ignis help them out of their clothes. To a point, anyway.

“No,” Tory said, hugging themselves as Ignis reached to pull off their undershirt. It was all they had on besides a pair of briefs. The red was spreading across Tory’s uncovered skin; down their neck toward their shoulders, and up their arms to form itchy red opera gloves. There wasn’t time for this nonsense.

“I won’t look,” Ignis promised in his gentlest voice. He rolled the hem of Tory’s tank top as far as their crossed arms, and then wrapped a towel around them. “Wear this. You’ll want dry underthings once you’re clean.”

Ignis had to help them secure the towel; Tory’s hands were covered in allergen and could therefore contaminate them further with their own touch. Besides, their fingers were too stiff and swollen to do much good. Ignis had Tory hook one arm around his neck to stand. Staring firmly at the ceiling, Ignis offered a muttered “I’m sorry,” before quickly reaching under the towel to remove Tory’s briefs. Immediately, he guided Tory to the showers. They made it, but only barely. Ignis grabbed them by the bicep to steady them as Tory was seized by another fit of coughing. Horror shot through Ignis as he let go: he’d left an angry red handprint on Tory’s skin. How could he have been so careless? The perfume was no doubt all over his skin and clothing as well.

“The taps are just in front of you,” Ignis told them. “I’ll be right back.”

Still gasping, Tory noded. One hand clutching the towel to their chest, they groped for the taps.

Ignis heard the hiss of water, and Tory’s abbreviated yelp of pain as he hurried out of his own things. He grabbed a spare set of sweats for Tory, a towel for himself, and his bucket of toiletries to share.

Tory stood beneath a light spray of cold water, letting it wash over their upturned face. The little panting noises might have been pain, or relief. It was hard to tell.

“What do you need?” Ignis asked Tory gently. “What should I do?”

“My face…” Tory gestures with their free hand. “I’ve got to get my contacts out.”

Ignis wet a cloth and held it over Tory’s eyes. They gasped in pain, but the tension in their neck and shoulders relaxed after a moment. Ignis repeated the process, carefully dabbing at Tory’s skin, trying not to make things worse. A solid five minutes passed before the swelling had gone down enough for Tory to open their eyes. Ignis couldn’t help cringing at the sight. Tory’s usually pale gray eyes were beyond bloodshot; the whites of their eyes blistered an angry ruby red. If he hadn’t known better, Ignis might have thought Tory had been in a fight. Viciously washing their hands, Tory then carefully prodded at one eye and then the other.

“That’s better,” Tory sighed, a pair of hard contacts clutched in the palm of one hand. “Thank you.”

“Allow me.” So as not to lose them, Ignis took the contacts and set them in the lid of the little plastic container that held his soap. Tory wouldn’t be wearing them again today. However, now Tory was truly blind. Ignis did his best to compensate for them without being too overbearing.

They finished cleaning up in silence, Ignis carefully wiping away the oil lingering on Tory’s skin, along with the dregs of their ruined makeup. Without it, they reminded Ignis of one of an unpainted china figure one might find in a pottery shop; unfinished and fragile. Ignis grabbed a dry towel to trade Tory for their sodden one. Tory shied away from his touch, clutching the wet towel tighter.

“Don’t look.”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” Ignis assured them. This, apparently, was the wrong thing to say. Tory turned away, undamaged skin staining red for a different reason. Without the scent cue, it took Ignis a split second to realize Tory was not embarrassed, but ashamed.

“My apologies,” Ignis draped the dry towel over their shoulders. “That was in poor taste. I should not have tried to make light of your discomfort.”

Tory shrugged and winced at the stretch of stinging skin. “I could show you, but then I’d have to kill you, and I’m pretty sure the monarchy couldn’t function without you.”

Ignis couldn’t help but snort a small laugh at that. Obligingly, he turned his back and focused on putting himself together.

About then the Citadel medical team burst in. Tory yelped as EMTs swarmed them, and Ignis only just had time to pull on some pants. The entire three man squad were all of them Betas, protective instincts ratcheted to full alert. Rather than risk having them fuss over himself as well, Ignis did his best to hover close enough to be supportive, but far enough away that he wouldn’t be counted as a victim. One of them was already interrogating Tory in the kindest way possible, but it was still a bit much.

“Are you the one who collapsed? What’s your name? Does it hurt? Are you allergic to any medications?”

Tory, caught undressed and off guard, couldn’t summon the breath or the words to answer. The team leader reached for Tory, trying to take hold of one blistered hand.

“Here, let me see.”

“I’m fine!” Tory squeaked, jerking away from their examination. The wet towel fell to the floor with a _slap_ , leaving only the dry one over their shoulders. Tory fumbled, almost dropping the remaining towel, trying to relocate it to cover the parts that mattered.

“One at a time, please!” Ignis elbowed his way past the EMTs with another towel, putting himself between them and Tory. He set the towel on Tory’s shoulders, holding it in place with his hands while Tory restored their modesty. Tory was struggling to breathe, so Ignis did the explaining.

“Tory has a lot of allergies. Someone in the council room was wearing aconite or eucalyptus-based perfume. It set off an allergic reaction. He has an inhaler, which he used, and an epi pen, which was also used. Now, if I could ask you to give us a moment.”

The medical team backed off, and after trying to meet Ignis’ demanding stare, turned their backs. Tory- shaking and still fighting to breathe, or perhaps not to cry- let Ignis help them dress. Once they were in clean clothes and seated on the bench, Ignis gaves Tory their inhaler. Tory took a puff and sat for a moment.

“Alright?”

Tory nodded. “Yeah.”

At Ignis’ nod, the EMTs stepped forward and got to work. They went over Tory, but much of the damage had already been mitigated. There really wasn’t anything else to be done. They offered a freezie pack which Tory accepted, and antihistamines which Tory declined.

“I’ve got some prescription stuff in my office,” Tory told them. “I can’t take just anything.”

Tory’s breathing had evened, so despite their obviously irritated skin, the medical team packed up and took their leave. Once they were out the door, Tory visibly shuddered.

“Come,” Ignis said, carefully placing a hand on their shoulder. “We’ll go to my office.”

He took Tory down the hall and into the aforementioned office, where he installed them on the couch with strict instructions to sit and rest. Tory didn’t seem inclined to fight him, and sank down onto the soft cushions. Ignis took a moment to go to Tory’s office to retrieve their spare glasses and bottle of prescription antihistamines. Once Tory could see again, Ignis busied himself with the hot pot, making tea for both of them.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” Tory said after several minutes of silence.

Ignis was genuinely confused. “Whatever for?”

“For being short-sighted and foolish enough to think I could stand more than five minutes of that. I let my vanity get the better of me. It won’t happen again.”

“You breathing is far more important than a Council meeting. I’m sure we didn’t actually miss anything.”

Tory contemplated their lap, skin reddening in a way that had nothing to do with the fading chemical burns. It took them several minutes to work up the nerve to speak:

“...did you see?”

“See?” Ignis echoed, lost, and then it clicked. “No.”

“Did the Med team?”

“I don’t think so. I assume they would have made more fuss.”

Tory nodded slowly, body visibly unclenching a little. Ignis went on:

“Even if I had, it would make no difference.”

Tory’s reply was barely audible, but no less genuine. “Thank you, Sir.”

The silence lingered awkward, but not unfriendly. Perhaps it would be best if they changed the subject.

“Has this happened before?”

Tory shook their head. “Not since the last time I had to take the bus to work. It’s been a while since I had to use a really heavy antihistamine. Keeps me from breaking out in hives. It doesn’t block the stink, but at least I can still breathe. Note to self. Assuming I’m not fired.”

“You are not fired,” Ignis’ tone was somewhere between fond and exasperated. “It’s my fault for dragging you into that cesspool of stench. I should have known better.”

“How?”

How indeed? Ignis had no answer to that, and so set a mug of tea on the end table where Tory could reach it. Keeping a mug for himself, he joined Tory on the sofa.

“You are my responsibility,” Ignis told them. “If I didn’t know, it was my job to find out.”

“Isn’t that the other way around?” Tory’s smile was a little warped, but definitely amused. “I’m supposed to provide support to you.”

“And you have.”

Tory looked away modestly, but there was a smile tugging at their lips.

“Thank you, Sir.”

Setting his tea aside, Ignis picked up his phone which had begun vibrating across his desk. Perhaps half a dozen texts from Gladio popped up on the screen.

Shield2HRH: _U ok?_  
Shield2HRH: _Said ur sec fainted_  
Shield2HRH: _Some1 paged Med?!_  
Shield2HRH: _Ig u ok?_  
Shield2HRH: _Backup?_  
Shield2HRH: _Pickup dammit_  
Shield2HRH: _Coming down_

Ignis sighed and tapped a quick reply:

IScientia: _Fine. Tory had an allergic reaction to someone’s perfume. That’s all._

He hit ‘send’ the same moment Gladio gave a perfunctory knock and then opened the door.

“Oh good. You’re not dead.”

If Gladio hadn’t been so obviously relieved, Ignis might be more annoyed.

“Obviously,” Ignis replied dryly. “I simply had my hands full.”

Beside him, Tory was trying to disappear into the couch cushions. Tearing his attention away from Ignis, Gladio eyed Tory; their blistered skin, reddened eyes, and the too-big, borrowed Crownsguard sweats.

“Shit. All that from perfume?”

“I’m a delicate flower,” Tory deadpanned. Ignis very narrowly avoided snorting tea.

Rather than laugh, Gladio looked thoughtful.

“All that from perfume,” he mused. “Where’re your clothes?”

“In my laundry bag,” Ignis replied. “Why?”

“Send something each to forensics. Say it’s part of the medical incident paperwork. I wanna know what the hell’s been giving you migraines.”

“You mean aside from the general stench of a dozen different musks plus gallons of perfume?”

“Aconite, eucalyptus, lily...” Tory counted off on swollen fingers. “There are a lot of poisons used in perfume.”

“If we can prove Tory almost choked to death on all that cologne, maybe we can get it outlawed.”

It wouldn’t help the natural musk of so many Alphas and Betas, but it might make things more bearable. Still, Ignis was skeptical.

“Do you honestly think such a thing could be reinforced?”

“If I keep falling over,” Tory shrugged. “Though it’s more likely I’ll simply be banned from the Council room.”

The smile slowly spreading across Ignis’ face was wicked and predatory. “Not unless they care to deal with a discrimination lawsuit.”

Tory’s eyes lit up. “Ooooh! May I file it, Sir?”

Gladio laughed. “You make it sound like fun.”

“Oh it will be.” Tory’s usually bland expression was now as devious as Ignis’.

Gladio eyed the pair of them, suddenly wary. “You guys are starting to scare me.”

Ignis couldn’t help feeling a little smug. It was a long shot, but if Tory was willing to put up the fuss, it just might work. Director Eudomia had no idea what a mistake it had been to insist upon Ignis having a secretary.

“I’ll get started on it at once,” Tory said, getting to their feet.

“Tomorrow,” Ignis decreed. “You cannot possibly type like that, nor can you drive. Allow me to drive you home.”

Tory opened their mouth to protest, but no words came out. They looked to Gladio, who simply shrugged as if to say ‘you’re on your own, dude’, and then at Ignis. Perhaps realizing it was pointless to argue, Tory managed a slightly bewildered:

“Thank you, Sir.”


End file.
